A Creed iN Santa Cruz

A year after she died
I stood in an oceanside church.
The waves were echoed
by chalice and stained glass.

A year in which I never said “believe.”
What is belief within the hollowness of grief?

A year, a numbed highway,
a blank staring at the day,
a dissipation of memories.

Then, adrift in stained light,
we stood and said, “I believe,”
I and these strangers
who were holding my belief for me.

I believe. 

God of wind
and the ocean,
and the woven pattern of the waves —
of the birds, their wings wide, their bodies seed pods on the breeze --
God of the sky, the birds' cries, the whales breaching by the boat --

shadows move, sunlight strikes deep chasms in the sea —
jellyfish slide by the boat's side — God of the world's eye —
shadows deepen, shadows shatter into shapes that sing —
gems of color along each wing —
God of perception and perceived — 

God of everything. I believe.

--
KPB Stevens is an Episcopal priest, poet and painter who lives in Columbus, Ohio. His work has appeared in Cathexis Northwest Press, Cardinal Sins, Squalorly, Inwood Indiana, Orion Headless and The Christian Century, as well as two EASE Gallery chapbooks, Wildernesses: Physical & Spiritual and Trespasses. His story 'My Beam of Light' was selected for The Wigleaf Top 50 Very Short Fictions of 2014.